


I Could Have Loved You

by missmeparadox



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Les Misérables References, Multi, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Revolutionaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 19:45:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5468684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmeparadox/pseuds/missmeparadox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No.” She whispered to herself. She rolled the word in her mouth like a pearl; tried speaking it aloud, shouting it, screaming it at the top of her lungs as she swept a pile of plans from the table with her arm.</p><p>Annabeth shouted at the bodies as well, and cursed her own for refusing to fail her now, of all times, after all of the torment she had put herself through. Even after all of her best efforts, Percy had been wrong. Now, she was alone.</p><p>And now, she would die.</p><p>...</p><p>Annabeth always understood that the chances of her never living to see the fruits of all of her labor were nearly impassible, but reality has only now begun to sink in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Have Loved You

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this an early holiday gift as an apology to all of my subscribers for my lack of recent updating (blame health issues and expect some updates on Dear Oracle before New Years). I've had this file sitting around unfinished for about two days now, and really wanted to dust it off and polish it up a little bit. Ive been a huge fan of both of these stories for a very long time now, and would love to hear any opinions y'all may have about it.
> 
> Now, let's get right to it!

Annabeth felt the cannon’s blast in her bones, and suddenly the world had shifted; pillars of muskets fell along with her to the cobblestones.

Around her, the streets were bathed in fire.

She rose unsteadily to weave her way through the rushing tides of scrambling students and shopkeepers with difficulty until the café’s oak doors were in front of her. Jason held them open, and she felt her heart clench when she realized that his shirtsleeves were still stained with Piper’s blood, and filthy with the wounds from the growing pile of citizens, spilling haphazardly across tables and chairs. Madame Jackson’s apron lay trampled on the dirty floors. Annabeth felt her heart clench.

They were the last pockets of resistance, and though horribly outmatched, it was Annabeth’s pride that willed her forward. She leapt over the body blocking the entrance to the building, and whispered a prayer when she made out the familiar lines of Frank’s woolen jacket, bruising crimson with drying blood.

“Annabeth?” Jason calmly laid a hand on her shoulder when she didn’t respond and steered her carefully towards the stairs past the bar. There, Rachel and Hazel stood, only half composed, awaiting her word, but Annabeth didn’t stop to greet them.

“Where are Reyna and Clarisse?” Annabeth demanded as she marched past them.

“Shot.” Rachel replied softly.

Their little procession halted abruptly. For a few languid seconds, the crackling of gunpowder could be heard in the empty silence.

“They went for ammunition,” Rachel continued, turning so that her glassy blue eyes locked with Annabeth's own mournful grey ones, “they died before I could say goodbye. Isn’t that a bit unfair?” Rachel’s hands and fingers shook, and she was properly weeping now in the din of the shadow, but finally turned her doll-like eyes away to face the doorway. Hazel turned to search Jason and Annabeth for answers. Annabeth chewed on her tongue in an attempt to fight the growing lump in her throat, to keep the tears at bay, and instead made an effort to focus on what Jason was trying to explain to them.

“Nico was shot by the first wave, we couldn’t get the body,” he rubbed at his temples, “and the guard has advanced some ten paces since the cannons- Annabeth,” he stopped to take a breath, “we only have a few minutes left.”

“Actually,” Rachel was interrupted by the crack of gunfire as bullets rained upon the doors. She slid to the ground in one fluid movement, legs crumpling beneath her with a _thump_. Hazel surged forward with a shout to crowd the woman’s side (even though Annabeth found it difficult to refer to her as such even now, for her plaited hair formed her lovely rosy face so that she appeared more majestic than ever), but her efforts were met with no reward. Hazel remained persistent though, fingers clawing at the clothes with spots blooming like roses, skimming along the ruined flesh.

Rachel’s heart strained visibly beneath her shirt. “Je suis béni.” She laughed softly, and then she was no more than another mass blocking the hallway.

Hazel remained vigilant in her efforts, however futile, until Annabeth reached beneath her arms and hauled her to her feet. Jason assisted her in steering the shocked woman up the stairs as she babbled incoherently, and the three of them climbed the steps with unspoken urgency. Annabeth knew that they were working themselves into a trap, and spared another ridiculous prayer for rescue, but that did not even begin to prepare her for the shock of seeing Leo in the room where all of their group’s meetings were held, a bundle of flaming cloth held over his head as he smiled at them, brilliantly.

Annabeth resolved then and there that if she lived to see tomorrow, she would accompany her father to mass at eight a.m. with no fuss whatsoever.

“Figured we should provide them with some of your famed revolutionary fervor, right Annie?” He shrugged with the same blinding expression. Annabeth frowned at the use of her horrid childhood nickname, but the action seemed to die at her lips as Leo turned and hurled the smoldering bundle out of the window and into the streets below. 

Okay, maybe an entire _week_ of mass. She felt as if she could cheer.

Jason stepped forward to help him, as there was quite the assortment of bottles (some tied off with whiskey-drenched cloth, and some, Annabeth realized, hot to the touch with stinging acid from the polytechnic at the university) to be thrown into the growing mob of soldiers in the streets. Shouts of alarm rang loudly below them, and soon the four were tossing the bottles with little aim, but far plentiful force.

Hazel cracked a grin when a particularly hefty jar struck a passing wheeled cannon, followed by the angry barking of the soldiers manning the craft. Annabeth, for the first time since hearing Percy’s drinking song the night before, felt a smile ease itself across her face.

As another first for the day, Annabeth spared a thought for Percy. She had already prepared herself for any news of his death, but the lack of any evidence was filling her with more worry. Had the guard at the end of the street intercepted him? Escaped with his mother to the harbor as she planned to?

Jason nudged her shoulder, eyes wide. As sudden as their assault had begun, the unmistakable sound of the locked doors below being forced inward echoed up the stairs and in Annabeth’s ears.  Their group stilled and turned to her with the solemn expressions of quiet terror that would more suit children fearing being caught for some misdeed. She groped blindly in her mind for the correct words to bring them courage, to remind them of their great Cause, but nothing but damp breath fell from her lips. The shouting around them seemed to fade as the world blurred at the edges.

“What do we do?” Hazel spoke to all of them, but Annabeth still couldn’t will herself to speak.

“Make them pay.” Jason said finally, albeit wearily, as he reached for and readied his musket. He looked up to face the group. “For every man, make them pay. That’s what this was meant to be, wasn’t it? To cut them down to size, wasn’t it!” His eyes had lost their reserved expression and now flashed with rage and fear, like a wounded dog’s would.

Annabeth nodded quickly. Leo looked as if he could kiss him.

The moment of hope lasted for around three seconds.

The same horrible shots (how many had Annabeth heard today? It felt like thousands) exploded through the floorboards this time, and Jason fell to the ground with a terrified yelp immediately. Haze and Leo landed on their knees in quick succession before slumping over, and their blood mingled together on the dirty boards. Rachel could have founded it poetic. Annabeth only screamed along with them.

She felt a stinging graze on her thigh and the sensation of her heart plummeting when she realized that she had not been hit, or at least, not directly. She dove to the floor, maybe to ask Jason what she should o next, or to smooth Hazel’s hair from her sweaty forehead, but she and Leo were unconscious before she could even reach them. Jason’s whimpering faded with a choked sob as she pawed at his back, and the blood that was abandoning him was staining her knees horrible rust.

“No.” She whispered to herself. She rolled the word in her mouth like a pearl; tried speaking it aloud, shouting it, screaming it at the top of her lungs as she swept a pile of plans from the table with her arm.

Annabeth shouted at the bodies as well, and cursed her own for refusing to fail her now, of all times, after all of the torment she had put herself through. Even after all of her best efforts, Percy had been wrong. Now, she _was_ alone.

And now, she would die.

She hardly noticed that the guards were at the top of the stairs in seconds, and in less so, upon her, as she continued to stare accusingly at her hands, offensively void of much blood or dirt. The armed men blocked the windows and the fireplace (as if she would actually _jump_ into the awaiting pools of flaming oil below, please). The captain regarded her coolly, stroking his thin moustache with a practiced expression of disdain and boredom.

“Take aim, gentlemen, and witness what happens when one goes ‘yond the might of the crown as Mademoiselle Enjolras has ventured.”

“Long live the rebellion, and death to the King and his dogs,” Annabeth’s voice did not waver once, though it was empty of the usual passion with which her speeches were famed for. This is what the King wanted, wasn’t it; she was a pest to be swatted away, snuffed out by guns and smoke and his own heavy boot. A student, god forbid a _woman_ that caused so much bloodshed was too valuable for the rebellion. With these words fresh on her tongue, Annabeth closed her eyes and prepared to die. Her mind raced with images of Reyna rolling her eyes at how irrational she was being, of Rachel and Leo’s laughter, of all of her friends whose blood had dried into her clothing what seemed like years ago.

“Athena,” a voice rasped from the doorway, “for as wise as you are, you seem to end up in these scenarios fairly often.”

Annabeth’s head turned toward the door so quickly that she feared she would get whiplash. She watched in awe as he stepped into the room, apparently not noticing or pretending not to notice the neat row of muskets aimed at his back.

“Percy, I don’t,”

“Don’t look, please?” His voice seemed close to giving out from overuse and a night without sleep, but his ears were clearer than they ever had been. “Just watch me for a few minutes.”

And Annabeth found herself following his instructions as he continued to make his way forward, weaving between soldiers and upset furniture until he stood before her. His hair was, once again, all over the place, but looked as if it would be soft to touch. Annabeth realized that she could do that if she desired; His hair was, after all, close enough for her to reach out and card her fingers through it, but she busied herself with fiddling with her shirtsleeves to squash the impulse.

This wasn’t the time for allowing herself such luxuries.

“You’ve gotten yourself into a damn mess here, wise girl.” Percy spoke as if it were only the two of them in her room, but the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes dimmed his smile considerably.

“You showed up, doesn’t that mean that you got yourself into this mess with me?” She whispered. The soldiers in front of them shifted when Percy’s chuckle filled the room.

“Well I couldn’t exactly prove _everyone_ right.” He smiled at her, and somehow that made the situation all the more tragic.

Annabeth reached for his hand without giving the action much thought, but felt relief flood her body when his open palm closed around her own. His eyes lingered at where their thumbs brushed against each other, and he squeezed their knit fingers experimentally. Annabeth swore she could recognize the expression; long nights of watching Percy doodle Piper’s hair or Rachel’s ink-stained fingers had brought forth the same look of concentration.

Annabeth squeezed his hand back. The captain coughed and ordered his me to take aim once again.

“Do you permit it?” Percy asked her gently.

Annabeth stared at him for a brief moment that felt as if it lasted a lifetime. This was Percy; this was the man whom she bickered and shouted with and cried over Bianca’s body with and whom she chose the Cause over. The very same man that never understood her love for the idea of building a whole new world but turned that into fuel for the fire that she designed herself.

‘ _I could have loved you,’_ Annabeth thought to herself as her eyes met his gorgeous green ones, ‘ _If we had the time, you could have loved me, too.”_ The captain seemed keen in hearing Annabeth’s answer himself, as he held off the command to fire, not yet.

Annabeth brought their entwined hands to her raw and bleeding lips, brushing them over each of Percy’s knuckles before pressing a chaste kiss to the inside of his wrist.

“Yes.”

The captain’s command to fire was lost to Annabeth in the roar of the crows outside, in the smile splitting Percy’s face in two, and she swore that she could hardly feel the stinging in her torso until she could not longer count the points.

Percy’s hand tightened over hers once before falling through her fingers as their bodies landed with a horrible _thud_ on the floor. Annabeth’s vision was riddled with shadows, but she groped along the floor until her fingers tightened around Percy’s arm, and then between his own once again.

He squeezed her hand once, twice, and then Annabeth could see no longer.

* * *

 

_At the end of an expanse of open land in what is now called Montparnasse Cemetery, there sits a small group of graves, many of them unmarked. They are believed to be the final resting places of the small group of students that died in the June rebellions following the French Revolution, Two of the marked graves house the bodies of Annabeth Agathe Enjolras and Perseus Denis Grantaire, two members of the group who died along with their companions. They were survived, as were all members of the group, by Nico di Angelo, who recovered from his injuries and escaped the conflict with his presumed lover, William Solace (who’s involvement in the rebellion is speculated at best and widely debated by experts on French History and European conflicts). Per pre-prepared instructions found in the jacket pocket of Jason G. Combeferre, the inscriptions on the tombstones read:_

_Mme. A. Enjolras- “A man without any belief in the thoughts of those besides himself has no business in believing in anything.”_

_M. Grantaire- “I believe in you.”_

_- **Passage found in a small collection of local stories, donated by one Madam Jackson-Grantaire, God rest her soul.**_


End file.
